The One Man
by Super Sister
Summary: During a time of heightened desperation, Gordon tries to get the Riddler to catch a serial killer.


Pure and utter madness. That was what these past six weeks had been. While he hadn't yet deigned to leave the relative comforts of Arkham Asylum and therefore could not possibly know how the city was faring, it didn't take a genius to guess that Gotham was devolving into a cesspit of chaos.

Ignoring the chafing of the cuffs, he tapped his finger against the table, first three times, then once, then four times, then once again. He stopped, when he heard footsteps approaching.

"And to what do I owe this pleasure, Commissioner Gordon?" Edward asked, when the door opened. Gordon didn't comment on how clever Edward must have been, to deduce that it had to be the commissioner visiting him. He ignored him instead and sat down in the chair on the opposite side of the table. He had a folder in his hands.

Gordon was in a terrible state. Ungroomed, bags below the eyes, he looked like he'd been sleeping in his clothes… Gotham was certainly in a state without her protector. Edward was somewhat surprised that Gordon didn't look worse though.

Without speaking, Gordon opened the file and started taking out every piece of paper, spreading it out in front of him. Edward had a good look at them. Seemed a serial killer was roaming the streets of Gotham, leaving cryptic clues to when, where and who he would kill next.

"Why should I help you?" Riddler asked. Gordon didn't immediately reply and when the moment of silence was too long, Edward added "And by the way, these clues are not riddles. I did not commit these murders, if that's what you're accusing me of. Again."

"No. I know you didn't commit these murders."

"How so?"

"You've been here for the past six weeks."

"That doesn't prove anything," he retorted. Gordon again didn't immediately respond. He was choosing his words carefully. Good for him, the Riddler supposed.

"You're right. Usually it doesn't. But these past six weeks have been anything but usual. You may have noticed, security around here has been a little more lax than usual." Gordon paused, to allow Edward to speak. Oddly, the Riddler chose not to, sitting silently, almost sulking in his chair. "Now," Gordon continued, "while most other rogues have taken advantage of this relaxed change, you are still here. You. Who escaped from Arkham during maximum security emergency shutdowns. For _fun._ You are still here."

"That doesn't prove anything, Commissioner. If escape is so easy, maybe I'm biding my time."

"You're not," Gordon insisted.

"Oh? Enlighten me then. Clearly, I'm not seeing the big picture."

"You've given up," Gordon replied, without missing a beat. "You've given up on proving just how smart you are. And now you're wallowing in your own pity and will continue to do so until you die."

Riddler let out a bark of laughter, as if the mere thought were utterly absurd. "You think this is because he died? I'm not in mourning, Commissioner."

"I didn't mention him, and I didn't say you were," Gordon replied. Riddler frowned. That was true. Gordon hadn't mentioned him. That alone left unfortunate implications. Gordon continued. "You have 'given up', because you know you have lost against Batman. For good."

"I didn't lose against him. He died."

"Which means you were never able to prove that you are smarter than him."

Edward's finger tapped against the table a few times. Once. Then six times. Then once again. Then eight times…

"It doesn't prove I'm less intelligent."

Gordon allowed himself to smile bitterly. It made Edward flinch, inwardly. He'd had many interactions with the commissioner as the Riddler before. In all that time though, he had never seen him smile. That aside, this was not a good smile. This was predatory.

"Let's say you escape tomorrow. What then? You take out the next smartest person you meet. Let's say you beat them. You move onto the next. And the next. And the next. And the next."

"I don't see what you're getting at-"

"No matter what, you can't stop, you can't _ever _stop looking for the next challenge. You can't find _any_ satisfaction, because you _know_. You know it doesn't matter who you beat or how clever you are, everyone will always only ever have _one _thing to say to you, Nigma. And you know what that is."

Edward glared at him.

"Don't say it," he warned. Gordon leaned in close, a sneer on his face.

"They will always say 'You may be clever, Mr. Riddler, but you were never as smart as the Batman.' And you. Know. It."

Edward's fingers tapped against the surface again. Once. Then four times. Then once again. Then twice.

Gordon was absolutely right. Batman's death meant that the Riddler could never prove that he was smarter. And that was the reason he had stayed in Arkham. What was there for him outside now? No matter who he challenged, who he beat, they could and would hold Batman over him. Just as Gordon was doing now.

"Fine," Edward finally said, after a stretch of tapping out the square root of two. "Let's say you're not wrong. I'm here by my own choice, whatever it may be. Why would I help in _this_?" He pointed at the documents spread across the table.

"You're right. You have no reason to help. Other than perhaps a passing distraction. A _challenging _passing distraction. I doubt those come along very often."

Riddler stared at the files, his mind already piecing the data together like a puzzle. Too easy, but more interesting than solving his one permitted Rubik's cube again. Or trying to finish that 10000-piece puzzle in the rec-room with half the pieces missing. On the other hand, he didn't really feel like being used by the police. He looked at Gordon thoughtfully. It made the commissioner apprehensive.

"You need me. Since Mr. Wayne's death," Edward muttered, ignoring the fact that _Wayne _sounded so alien and wrong on his tongue, "crime has been on the rise. Such a public death, too. It's attracting criminals from outside of Gotham. Not to mention all the escaped rogues. You need me to solve this string of murders, because you no longer have the resources to solve it yourselves."

"Yes Nigma, we are stretched thin," Gordon curtly replied. "And I am wasting time sitting here, on the off-chance that you will help catch a serial killer. And I have to, because the alternative is to let him keep killing without even trying. You can do whatever the hell you like, but if I don't have an answer in the next ten seconds, I am leaving and not offering again."

"Fine," Riddler said lowly, without hesitation. "I'll do it." Because Gordon was right. Riddler needed a distraction right now, _any _distraction. Batman was dead. Everyone would always talk about the one man Riddler could never outsmart. A shadow that would hang over him for the rest of his life. He needed the distraction badly. As many as he could get. "I guess it'll help my little bout of ennui, even if only marginally so."

Gordon didn't smile at getting the Riddler to help. In fact, he didn't even look relieved. He just looked tired.

"Thank you."

There was nothing else to say.


End file.
